Page 22 of The Love Audit
“Hey, good job telling that story about how we got together on the fly,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Well, it was the truth.”
“All of it?”
“Yeah, that was one of the greatest nights of my life,” I admitted, giggling. “Walking into the Waldorf Astoria in a bespoke gown with a handsome Ivy League college senior? Marcus was gagged. I’ll never forget the look on his face. Did you have funthat night?” I asked, propping myself up on my elbows to look at him. “I don’t think we’ve ever talked about it.”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I mean, it was all right. I was there for you, and I’m glad you had fun.”
“Seriously? That makes me feel bad now.”
“Nah, you’re good. I was worried about catching a case.” His face dropped to a serious expression. “So, Derek Carter, you’re a twenty-one-year-old man here to escort a seventeen-year-old girl to her high school prom. Why don’t you take a seat over there so we can talk?”
I burst out laughing, and when he slipped into his Chris Hansen impression, I was screaming.
“Oh,” I squealed. “Stop! You’re going to make me pee.”
“Not the first time you’ve peed in my bed,” he shot back, grinning.
“Derek, I was six!”
“And?” he said indignantly, making me laugh even harder.
“Well, I never got a chance to tell you, how much you taking me to my prom meant to me. I know I thanked you at the time, I was raised with manners.” I cut a glance at Derek and he smirked. “Or maybe I didn’t have the words when I was seventeen, but I’ve thought about it a lot over the years.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It means a lot more now that I know you risked ending up on cell block C to make me happy.”
“Worth the risk, Jas.” His voice softened, and my stomach flipped. He hadn’t called me Jas in years. It felt like a warm hug and a punch to the gut all at once.
“Hey, did you mean it when you said I was the one person you could count on? Or was that part of the game we were playing?”
The truth of his question hit me hard. Derek had been my best friend, the one person I could always talk to. When the rift happened between our families, he would have been the only one who understood. And then he disappeared without a goodbye.
I bolted upright, pulling my feet out of his lap. “Hey, what’s up?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.
“It’s late.” I smoothed my dress and reached for my shoes. “I should let you get some sleep.”
“Jasmine, what happened?” he asked, twisting to look at me.
“Nothing,” I lied. “Thank you for remembering my malt allergy. Good night.”
His confused expression was the last thing I saw before closing my bedroom door.
I considered what happened last night after dinner with the Pikes a near miss. Something about being surrounded by so much love and family had made me briefly lose focus, forget why I was here, and most importantly, forget that Derek was the enemy in more ways than one. Not only were we competing for the same job, but he was also the man who’d abandoned our friendship when things got tough.
Spending time with him on that couch, my feet in his lap, reminiscing about old times, felt more bitter than sweet. I couldn’t let it happen again. I resolved to keep my focus laser-sharp on mypresentation and not on the way Derek’s bare chest rose and fell as he lay stretched out on the pullout sofa. That was easier said than done. I realized I’d been watching him sleep when I felt Tora’s warm, wet nose pushing into the palm of my hand. Day one of not thinking about Derek Carter had barely begun, and I was already failing miserably.
After giving Tora breakfast, I rummaged around the cabinets until I found everything I needed to make myself a cup of coffee. The sound of me opening and closing every cabinet in the kitchen, or perhaps the rich aroma of Colombian dark roast, must have roused my reluctant roommate. Just as I was pouring myself a second cup, Derek stumbled into the kitchen, still shirtless, looking like a walking cologne ad.
“Is there any more coffee?” he grumbled, scratching the back of his head. The motion caused his back to arch slightly, drawing my unwilling attention to his chiseled abs and flexed biceps. By the time my gaze reached his face, the smug smirk waiting for me made it clear I’d been caught. I narrowed my eyes and turned back to the coffee maker.
“No,” I lied, emptying the remainder of the pot into my mug. “But you’re welcome to make yourself some.”
“Hmph,” he muttered, shuffling past me to the cabinet holding the coffee grounds. “So, what are you getting into today?”
I thought carefully before answering. I did have plans, but I wanted to be steadfast in my promise to myself.
